The One
by Alipeeps
Summary: Shep whumpy missing scene tag fic to the episode Epiphany. Teer had watched as John had fought the Beast... NOW COMPLETE
1. Arrival

_A whumpy tag fic to the episode Epiphany, inspired by a discussion on the GW Shep Whump thread about how cheated we were of whump in this episode.. so much of the whump, Sheppard being "terribly injured" etc and the nice healing/comfort scenes all happened off-screen! So this is my imagining of what went on during that missing scene._

_As ever, reviews and feedback gratefully received._

* * *

Teer had watched as John had fought the Beast. She had followed his progress in her mind as he left the forest and crossed the open fields, had watched as he had protected her brother, selflessly putting himself in danger to save the life of a man who was a stranger to him. 

She had felt his arrival, of course. From the moment he had entered the Sanctuary she had been aware of his presence. After a lifetime of knowledge of this man, of seeing his face in her dreams, how could she not have sensed the very instant of his arrival? His passage through the portal had been painful and she had watched with bated breath as he had huddled on the floor of the cave, struggling with the pain that coursed through him. She had stayed with him, watched over him, as he had recovered, as he had sought to communicate with his friends, sought to find a way to leave the Sanctuary.

She had been patient. She had waited all these years, what were a few more days? John's coming was a sign to her, to all of them. Their journey's end approached and she rejoiced in that. So she continued to watch as, eventually, John accepted his fate and left the cave, heading out through to forest, travelling to join her and her people. She had sent Avrid to meet him, telling her brother exactly when and where he would find the stranger sent to guide them to Ascension.

She had not foreseen that the Beast would find him too. The creature's appearances had grown more frequent in recent months and it had been sighted all over the Sanctuary; only the Cloister was safe. Her breath had stuttered with fear, her hands clutching helplessly at the blankets of the bed where she had sat, safe and protected within the Cloister, her eyes tightly shut as she watched her beloved brother run from the Beast, watched John stand protectively over him. Even her belief in John, the sure and certain knowledge that he was the one who would rid them of the Beast, who would walk with them on the last steps of their path to a higher plane, had not been proof against the cold fingers of fear that had gripped her heart as she had seen him thrown through the air, seen him tumble to the ground, limp as one of Hedda's cloth dolls, and yet, with a strength and a courage that at once warmed and amazed her, climb again to his feet and fight stubbornly on.

She had watched him fight the Beast with every ounce of strength in him, had seen him suffer terrible injuries and yet battle on, seen him cry to her brother to run and save himself even as he had struggled with the Beast. All this she had seen, even as she had seen her brother return to find John unconscious and bleeding, his broken body sprawled amongst the summer grasses of the field, his blood slowly staining the virgin soil. With an aching heart she had watched as Avrid had lifted the injured man onto his shoulders and carried him across the Sanctuary. She had waited for them at the edge of the Cloister, she and Hedda, anxious to see, to really see, the man for whom she had waited for so long.

The sight that had met her eyes when Avrid staggered out from the fields had shocked and dismayed her; had brought home to her how distant, how removed, the gift of sight had made her. Safe in the Cloister, she had been able to watch but not to experience, to see but not to feel. Caught up in her joy at John's arrival, in her eagerness to have him with them, she had let herself ignore the very real danger. She had been afraid certainly, had feared for his life as the Beast had raged, but she had never truly believed that he would die. Secure in her knowledge of John's destiny, of the path he would share with them, his desperate fight with the Beast had seemed almost an abstract thing, an experience from which she knew he would recover. Seeing him in the flesh, bruised and bloody, slung limply over Avrid's back, she had felt for the first time the stirrings of real fear, had allowed herself to consider for the first time the pain and suffering this man had endured to save the life of her brother, to save them all. She had rushed to help Avrid with his burden, feeling the slick heat of John's sweat-soaked skin, the sticky warmth of drying blood, under her palm as she helped to bear his weight, the two of them carrying him carefully, gently, between them as Hedda ran ahead to prepare the room. Even amongst the confused welter of emotions that washed through her, Teer had been aware of a quiet thrill of sensation at touching him, holding him; he was real. He was here.

She was no longer distant, no longer watching from afar, in her mind where scent and sound and vivid emotion could not reach her, but was in the thick of the action, her heart pounding in her chest, her senses excruciatingly aware of the thick, mingled smells of blood and dirt and sweat, of the feel of sinew and muscle under John's skin, the slick, warm sensation of his blood on her hands, as they battled to save his life. As they sought to lower his limp body to the waiting bed, he roused suddenly, tension returning to the slack muscles under her touch. He began to struggle immediately, trying to break free of their grasp, a groan of pain and confusion on his lips. Dreadfully wounded as he was, there was still a stubborn strength to his limbs and Teer found herself gasping out his name, trying to soothe and reassure him, as his disoriented struggles threatened to make them lose their grip on his blood-slick skin, his body lurching towards the unforgiving floor as his knees buckled. He let out a cry of pain as he sagged in their grip, the motion pulling at his injuries. Teer was reminded of a trapped and wounded animal fighting ferociously for its freedom.

"You are safe, John! There is nothing to fear here!" He showed no sign of hearing her words, continuing to writhe and pull at their confining grip, and she was forced to let Avrid bear John's weight alone, dropping to her knees before John's slumped body, gripping his face between her hands and lifting his bowed head, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You are safe," she repeated firmly. "You must let us help you." His eyes were clouded with pain and confusion, his lips twisting in a grimace of pain, but her words seemed to reach him and his weakening struggles ceased, Avrid grunting with strain as John let himself relax, his dead weight almost overbalancing the both of them. Teer rose quickly, helping to support John's weight as Avrid manhandled him awkwardly towards the bed, John's head rolling loosely on his shoulders, a low moan registering his pain and discomfort.

Hedda possessed the healing gift and without that blessing Teer was certain that all would have been lost; as they finally laid John down on the bed it was clear just how grave were his wounds, the soft blankets beneath him immediately turning dark with his life's blood. He groaned wordlessly as she and Avrid rolled him carefully onto his stomach and she stifled a grimace as she caught her first proper look at the injuries on his back. Three deep gashes cut through the many layers of his clothing and deep into the flesh beneath. Blood still welled from the cuts, soaking into the torn fabric, and Teer felt nausea turn her stomach for a moment as she caught a glimpse of white amongst all the red and realised what she was seeing; the cuts had gone down to the bone. Hedda was quick to act, her young face scrunched into a frown of concentration as she held her hands over the deep wounds, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused her thoughts, her energies. John's breathing was harsh and ragged, his body sprawled limply across the bed. Teer crouched beside him and took his hand in hers, offering what small comfort she could; he blinked slowly at her, his eyelids drooping with pain and fatigue. Her gaze was drawn irresistibly back to the deadly wounds across his back and she watched as slowly, noticeably, the seep of blood began to slow and the torn flesh began to knit back together. When she turned her attention back to John's face, his eyes were closed, his brow creased with pain even in unconsciousness.

Hedda did not heal the wounds completely, for John had other injuries that needed attention and there were limits to the extent to which the child could heal before needing to rest and recuperate her energies. Though none of them had ever seen a battlefield, they had quickly adopted the concept of triage – treat the worst injuries first, enough to keep him alive a little longer, to give them more time in which to work to save him. The cuts on his back were still red and angry, dark, swollen slashes visible through the torn fabric of his clothing, but they were no longer bleeding, no longer an immediate threat to his life. They had the luxury of time now and Teer took control of the situation, fetching scissors to cut free the torn and dirty remnants of his clothing. The padded vest he wore over his garments was tougher than it looked; some kind of armour, she surmised. Certainly he had come to the Sanctuary bearing weapons and had fought the Beast as a man trained in combat. She wondered briefly at a man so accustomed to violence being the one to lead them on their path to Ascension.. but then, perhaps only a warrior could truly defeat the Beast.

The sturdy fabric of the armoured vest resisted the scissors' blades and she needed Avrid's help to carefully roll John over and to sit him up as she worked to remove the garment. The ingenious fastening was foreign to her but she finally worked it free and the vest slid easily from his shoulders. Avrid laid John down gently onto the bed and Hedda hovered impatiently as Teer carefully cut through the grass-stained black fabric of his shirt, exposing a pale chest with a fine sprinkling of hair.. and flesh already swollen and reddening from the Beast's crushing blows. As Hedda placed her hands above the bruised flesh and closed her eyes, Teer took the time to examine John more carefully. He was tall and slim, his body possessing a wiry strength that was apparent even in the relaxation of unconsciousness. His hair was thick and tousled, unruly, his cheeks shadowed with several days growth of beard. His cheek was grazed and raw and a cut on his forehead had bled profusely, the side of his face sticky with drying blood, the hair at his temple matted with it.

Hedda attention was turned inwards, a look of concentration on her face as she focused her energies on sensing and healing the damage done to John's body. Even as Teer watched, the swelling and redness marring his chest began to visibly fade, Hedda's healing power repairing the damage done to muscle and bone and organs. As her sister worked on healing John's most serious injuries, Teer took up a bowl of cool, fresh water and soaked a scrap of cloth, seating herself beside the bed as she reached over to gently press the damp cloth to his temple, carefully smoothing it over the dirt and blood streaked skin, the fabric leaking red stain into the bowl of water as she dipped it again and wrung it out. The injuries were not serious but, like most head wounds, the cut over his eyebrow had bled freely and blood, both old and drying and fresh and damp, covered the right side of his face, having trickled all the way down to his neck and spilt over his brow to smear across his eyelid and cheek.

She was absorbed in her task, her attention focused on the simple motion of cloth on skin as she cleansed the dirt and blood and sweat from John's face. She pressed the fabric against the matted tangle of hair at his temple, letting the water soak the blood free. She dabbed gingerly at the cut itself, wary of dislodging the fragile scabbing and causing the wound to reopen, and followed the trail of blood downwards, softly wiping blood from his brow.. and was startled to find his eyes open again; those same oddly-coloured eyes that she had been seeing in her mind's eye since childhood. She frowned, her hand stilling its gentle press against his brow as she asked softly, "John?"

His eyes were open but they were vague, unfocused, and she was not sure he even saw her. He did not respond to her voice, staring vacantly past her, his breathing rapid and shallow.

"Teer."

Avrid's voice drew her attention away from John to find Hedda leaning tiredly into her brother's arms, exhaustion written plainly across her face but a satisfied smile on her lips. "He will live," she stated solemnly. Teer rose quickly to her feet, her heart filled with love and pride for her sister who, though still so young, gave so generously of herself to help others. Hedda was swaying on her feet and Teer bent to hug the girl close for a moment before allowing Avrid to lead her away to rest. When she looked back at John, his eyes were closed once more, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He looked somehow young and vulnerable, laid limply atop the bedsheets, still dressed in his boots and pants, his head tilted to one side, his messy shock of hair dark against the pillow.

The worst of his injuries had been treated but John still had much healing to do. It would be hours before Hedda was able to use her healing gift again; what he needed most now was rest. Working alone, it was a struggle to get him undressed. Removing his boots was easy enough; the pants were a little harder. First she had to unfasten and remove the empty pouch that was strapped to his thigh. At first its purpose bemused her but then she remembered the terrible fight with the Beast and seeing John pull out a second, smaller weapon after the creature had thrown him to the ground. She struggled for a moment with the first of the unfamiliar clasps until it suddenly came free in her hands and she quickly unfastened the second strap and slid the pouch free. John's pants were ripped and stained with mud and grass and no small amount of blood. Whilst she did not doubt that the stains would wash out of the sturdy cloth with time, and the rips and tears could be mended, removing the pants whole, on her own, would be a struggle and she saw no need to cause extra work for herself by trying to preserve the garment. After all, the Sanctuary was John's home now. He would have no need of his warrior's garb and weapons on the path to Ascension.

She couldn't help the slight flush that came to her cheeks as she carefully cut along the side seams of the pants, the material parting slowly, falling aside to reveal long, muscled legs.. and a growing collection of bruises and abrasions from the fight. She grimaced; more for Hedda to deal with in the morning. The seams cut through on both sides, she gripped the legs of the pants and pulled with a firm but gentle pressure; John did not stir from his slumber as the remnants of the garment slid out from under the weight of his body. He wore an undergarment of striped fabric which Teer left in place as she sat once more beside the bed, returning to the bowl of water and using a fresh cloth the clean, as best she could, the numerous small scrapes and cuts that marred John's smooth skin. He was preternaturally still under her hands, his only movement the soft, too-rapid rise and fall of his chest. His stillness worried her, as did his rapid breathing. But Hedda had said he would live and her sister's gift was strong; she had never yet been proved wrong. A night of rest would do him good and come the morning Hedda would work her wonders once again. John would recover. He had to. He was the One.

She was as gentle as she could be as she rolled him carefully onto his side, arranging his limbs so that he should not roll or move whilst she cared for the wounds on his back. The cuts were still red and angry, the flesh looking raw and swollen. The injuries had been severe, the blood loss alone an immediate threat to his life, and Hedda had had no choice but to begin the healing process before they had even removed his torn clothing to better examine the wounds. There had been no time to clean the cuts and Teer could not help but think back to her vision of John being thrown to the ground by the Beast, landing upon his torn and bloody back, his head slumping back to the ground as unconsciousness claimed him, leaving him limp and bleeding in the grassy foliage of the fields. Only the Ascended knew what dirt and foreign matter had been ground into his open wounds or what infection the Beast's claws might carry. Only time would tell if their actions had been enough to prevent infection from taking hold.. or if Hedda's healing powers would be put to further test.

She took the time now to bathe and cleanse the cuts, running her damp cloth carefully over the three symmetrical lines that sliced diagonally across the width of his back. Her people had lived in the Sanctuary for a long time; they were a self-sufficient people and had not always been lucky enough to have someone with the healing gift to rely on. Though illness and injury was rare, they had their share of medicines, preparations passed down from generation to generation, and her touch was gentle as she smoothed a healing balm over the wounds before wrapping them as best she could. John did not stir or flinch as she touched the painful-looking wounds, nor as she reached over him repeatedly to push the roll of bandage under his body and wrap around and again. It was a struggle to pull the blood-stained bed clothes out from under the dead weight of John's body to pile them on the floor with the discarded remnants of his torn and dirtied clothing. When she laid him gently onto his back on the clean mattress, she found his forehead lightly beaded with sweat and his breathing still shallow and fast. With a frown she fetched fresh bed clothes from the closet and made him as comfortable as she could, plumping up the soft pillow under his head and pulling the warm covers up to his chin. The night hours would bring improvement or deterioration; only the Ascended knew which. For now, she had done all she could.

* * *

_TBC..._


	2. Awareness

_Thanks to all those who reviewed.. More whump to come in this chapter (but of course) and maybe a little bit of comfort too... ;)_

* * *

The night had been long and difficult. Unwilling to leave the still healing John alone during the night, Teer had set up a cot in the room they had prepared for him, intending to sleep nearby in case he needed her. As it had turned out, she had had little in the way of sleep. She had lain awake for a long time in the darkened room, listening to the soft, shallow whisper of John's breathing. Now that the immediate crisis was over, she had found herself caught up again in a sense of wonder at John's arrival. After a lifetime of seeing his face in her mind, of knowing that he would come to them and that his arrival would herald the end of their journey, the achievement of the goal that was so dear to them, it almost didn't seem real that the moment had finally come; that John was here, with them. With her.

She had just been drifting off to sleep when a noise from the bed had pulled her back to wakefulness. She had lain still for a moment, wondering if she had imagined the noise, but then it had come again – the rustling of blankets and what sounded like a muted groan. Moving carefully in the darkness, she had risen from her cot and fumbled for a moment to find and light a small oil lamp. The soft glow of the lamp had lit only the immediate area, deep shadows crowding in around her as she had carried it over to John's bed. She had found him sprawled haphazardly across the bed, the blankets pulled askew and tangled around his body, exposing his bare chest to the cool night air, and the lamplight had revealed the sheen of sweat on his skin.

As she had stood over him, he had stirred again, tossing his head restlessly on the pillow, his lips moving soundlessly, and his legs jerking reflexively under the blankets. Concern tightening her chest, Teer had leant over him and carefully touched the back of her hand to his sweat-dewed forehead. He had jerked away from her touch but not before she had felt the burning heat of his skin. With a heavy heart she had accepted that John's journey with them was not to be an easy one; his temperature meant fever and that meant he had developed an infection. There was little she could do but make him comfortable through the night until Hedda was rested enough to heal him further in the morning.

Moving quietly so as to not unduly disturb John's already restless sleep, she had carefully lit two further lamps, filling the small wood-built home with warm light. She had thought to prepare a bowl of fresh, cool water and clean cloths after getting John settled in bed and she had been grateful for that foresight as she had seated herself once again beside the bed and wrung the excess water from a small cloth. John's hair had already been damp with sweat and she had noticed his eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids. His face had been flushed with colour and his lips had continued to move silently, mouthing words that she could not make out. Dreaming. He had been dreaming.. and by the frown on his face, his dreams had not been pleasant.

He had flinched again as she had pressed the cool, damp cloth to his forehead, mumbling an inarticulate sound of protest. She had tried to soothe him with gentle words, keeping up a low murmur of reassurance as she had wiped the cooling cloth over his heated skin, smoothing it across his forehead, over his cheeks, along the strong column of his throat. His neck and chest had been flushed, the unnatural colour to his skin contrasting oddly with the edge of the clean, white bandages wrapped firmly around his chest. She had dipped the cloth in cool water once again and begun to wipe the sheen of sweat from his bare shoulders when he had shifted violently, his hand jerking up to knock her touch away. The sudden movement must have pulled at the barely-healed wounds on his back because an instant later his face had twisted with pain, his body tensing as his lips had parted in a hoarse cry. His eyes had continued to flicker rapidly under his eyelids and yet they had remained closed; not awake and yet not really asleep, he had hovered uncomfortably between the two states, lost in fever dreams.

She had continued throughout the night to cool his feverish body with cloths and tepid water, gently sponging his heated skin as he had muttered incoherently, the frown on his face a mixture of pain and confusion. She had tried her best to keep him from moving too much and aggravating the pain of his still-raw wounds, but he had been restless and agitated, often flinching away from her touch or trying to knock her hands away. His face had been drawn with pain and seeing him suffer so had made her heart ache in her chest and left her wishing the night away, praying for time to pass more quickly, that Hedda's touch could ease his suffering that much sooner.

At one point his struggles had calmed momentarily and she had looked up from smoothing her damp cloth over his chest to find his eyes open and seemingly fixed on her. She had stilled her movements, her gaze caught by his fever-bright eyes, and kept her voice calm and low, afraid to startle him, as she spoke, "John?" He had responded, either to her voice or to his own name, seeming at least partially aware as he had frowned in confusion.

"Where..?" His voice had been faint and hoarse, cracking on that single word and he had grimaced in frustration, licking his lips woozily before trying again, "Where am..?"

She had understood the question even if he could not get the words out and she had found herself fighting her eagerness to reassure him, forcing herself to keep her voice low and soothing. "You are in the Cloister. You are safe here. You were injured fighting the Beast; you must rest and let us care for you."

She had reached for the jug and cup on the bedside table and poured sweet, cool water, holding the cup to his lips as she had carefully slid a hand under his head to help him sip slowly. He had been weak, hardly able to lift his head, and she had been able to feel his body trembling at even so small an exertion. The skin at the nape of his neck had been flushed and warm, the strands of hair pressed against her palm damp with sweat. He had closed his eyes when she had lowered his head carefully back to the pillow, his throat working as he had swallowed, enjoying the cool sensation of the water refreshing his fever-dry throat. Then he had tensed suddenly, his eyes snapping open, and his still hoarse voice had rasped, "There.. there was a man.. it was going to attack him.."

"Yes. My brother, Avrid. All is well," she had soothed, her hand on his chest preventing his weak attempts to rise. "You saved him, John," she had told him gratefully and he had seemed to relax at that, the tension leaving his muscles, his eyes already drooping as his head rolled loosely on the pillow. He had seemed calmer, less agitated, though the heat still radiated off his skin, and she had dared to hope that his fever would be short-lived, that his body was already fighting off the infection on its own. She had pressed the cool cloth to his forehead once more and found his heavy-lidded eyes focused once again on her face. Though his gaze had still been glassy with fever, she had seen a glimpse in him of the strength and determination she knew he possessed. His lips had moved almost soundlessly, his dry throat producing only a whisper of sound but enough for her to understand his simple question, "Who?"

"I am Teer.." His eyes had been closing even as she had answered, his body, weak from injury and fever, unable to resist the pull of sleep any longer. He had drifted into fever dreams without hearing her response.

She had passed the remainder of the night in snatching brief periods of sleep where she could, rising from her cot to murmur gentle words of reassurance, to sponge down John's flushed and heated skin, each time his fever had pulled him from healing sleep to hover restlessly on the edge of wakefulness. He had tossed and turned despite her best attempts to calm him, his face drawn with pain, mumbled words that made no sense to her interspersed with groans as his restless movements had pulled at bruised and tender flesh and fever dreams had carried him to places she could only imagine.

The slow light of dawn breaking over the horizon was the most wonderful sight she had seen in a long time.

John was resting fairly peacefully when Hedda returned, her light step as she ran to hug Teer evidence that a few solid hours of sleep had left her refreshed and restored to her usual strength. Teer did not miss the look of concern that Avrid threw her as he carefully closed the door behind him; she knew the evidence of her night-long vigil must be plain to read in her face, in the slow fatigue of her movements. She gave her brother a grateful smile as he wrapped a comforting arm around her waist, allowing herself to lean on him just a little as they watched Hedda hover over her sleeping charge, her young face serious as she regarded the flushed colour of his skin, the sweat dampening his unruly hair.

Holding her hands out over John's body, Hedda closed her eyes and concentrated. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, breaking off from the almost-trance she often entered when using her healing power, and turned to Teer with a small frown of worry on her face. "He is too hot," she informed them gravely. "The sickness is in his blood and it is making him ill."

Teer's heart sank a little at the news; it was worse than she had thought. The terrible wounds on John's back had become infected, causing his fever, but now Hedda was telling them that the infection had spread beyond his wounds, poisoning his blood and attacking his entire body. No wonder he had been so restless during the night, so confused and disoriented in his brief periods of wakefulness. Blood poisoning was rare and, without the healing gift, almost always fatal. Teer could only watch helplessly, a silent prayer to the Ascended on her lips, as Hedda closed her eyes once more and frowned in concentration.

John stirred minutely under Hedda's not quite touch, his eyelids fluttering as her hands hovered just above his fever-hot skin, her healing power seeking out the infection in his blood and burning it out. Teer winced as John twitched and mumbled, sweat beading on his brow. For a long moment all else was still, Hedda standing rigidly beside the bed, all her attention focused inwards as she worked to heal John, Teer and Avrid standing silently by, watching… hoping. Finally, with a slow exhalation of breath, Hedda opened her eyes and let her hands fall to her side. "It is done," she smiled.

Teer felt an answering smile break across her face. "He is weak," Hedda warned, "and it will take time for his body to recover, but the infection is gone."

Teer and Avrid worked together once again to lift John's body from the mattress, Avrid sitting on the bed and leaning John's torso against his shoulder whilst Teer unwound the bandages from around his chest. John was dead weight, unresponsive, his arms hanging loosely as his head lolled to one side. Avrid held John in place, a firm arm across his shoulders, as Hedda knelt beside him on the bed and held her hands once more over the angry wounds that marred the skin of his back. As Teer watched, the red and swollen slashes slowly faded and smoothed out, Hedda using her healing gift to finish the job she had started yesterday, reducing inflammation, restoring blood flow and nerve connections, until eventually John's skin was once again smooth and unmarked, the horrific, bone-deep gashes nothing more than an unpleasant memory. Teer was pleased to see the slight, perpetual frown of discomfort on John's face ease a little at the same time.

She helped Avrid to lower John gently back to the mattress, pulling up the blankets to cover him. The unnatural flush was gone from John's cheeks, revealing the true pallor of his skin, his face drawn and pale. He looked tired and ill, his body exhausted from the trauma it had undergone. He finally seemed to be sleeping peacefully however, the restless tension gone from his limbs, his eyes firmly closed, lashes dark against the pale skin of his cheeks. His breathing was better too, slow and deep now, his lips slightly parted in sleep. He did not move as Hedda held her hands once more over his torso and abdomen, checking for further damage, making sure that the injuries she had treated the day before were also healing well.

Finally, happy that she had done all she could and John's injuries were sufficiently healed, Hedda stepped back from the bed.

"He needs rest," she told them simply. "His body is tired; he will sleep for a long time." She looked up at her sister, her face showing a worldly understanding far beyond her tender years, and noted cheekily, "He is not the only one that needs to sleep."

The relief that washed through her at the knowledge that John would recover made Teer suddenly, achingly aware of her own fatigue and, despite her unwillingness to abandon her self-appointed vigil, she did not resist as Avrid guided her firmly out into the warm morning sunshine, his arm around her shoulders as he walked her back to her own dwelling, a fond smile on his face as he watched her climb wearily into bed and gently tucked her in.

"Sleep well and fear not; we watch over him," he assured her.

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Awakening

_This is the final chapter of this story - for now. I really wanted this fic to also fill in the missing scene after the second attack but it's kinda taken on a life of its own and grown to three chapters just for the first attack... and I really need to move onto some other work. I think I will probably come back to this one later and add a further couple of chapters to cover the second missing scene. For now, however, this is it... _

_Hope you enjoyed it, all reviews and feedback gratefully received. :)_

* * *

Teer had awoken to find the room cloaked in growing darkness, surprised to find that evening was already settling upon the Cloister; she had slept most of the day away. Her first thought upon waking had been of John and she had been filled with an irrational fear at having relinquished her guardianship of him for so long. Though she had known full well that Avrid or Hedda would have come and fetched her if there had been any problems, any change at all, she had still been unable to shake the urgent need to check on him, to see for herself that he still lived, still breathed. He was the One, the One who would lead them to Ascension…

Splashing water on her face from the washbowl on the dresser and hurriedly changing into fresh clothing, she had had to force herself to walk and not run the short distance from her home to John's temporary quarters. She had chided herself for her excitement, for allowing the rush of powerful emotions to overwhelm her so; she had spent her life in meditation and learning, in striving for a higher goal, to free oneself of the mundane, the humdrum of human concerns and emotions, to achieve a higher, purer plane of existence. She had learnt to centre and balance herself, to be at peace with herself and to accept her place within the fabric of the universe with calm and equanimity. John had been with them for barely a full day and yet he seemed to have turned her world upside down and left her giddy and unbalanced. She had taken a moment to compose herself, to school her features, before pushing open the door to his room.

She had been greeted by a wide smile from Hedda. Her sister had been perched beside John's bed, leaning forward to press a cool, damp cloth to his forehead, and her happiness had been innocent, free from even a natural pride at having been the one to save John's life, as she had cheerfully informed Teer that John was doing much better. Indeed, he had looked much improved, the terrible pallor of that morning already fading, a healthy colour returning to his cheeks. The blankets had been pulled up across his chest and he had looked relaxed and comfortable. He had been oblivious to Hedda's gentle touch and had seemed to be sleeping deeply and peacefully.

"He has slept all day?" she had questioned, moving around the bed to stand beside her sister, tousling the young girl's mass of curls affectionately.

"Mostly," Hedda had answered blithely. "He woke up once or twice.."

Teer had felt her heart clench in her chest at those innocent words, a disappointment that was almost painful filling her at the thought that John had been awake and aware and she had missed it, had not been there to welcome him properly to his new home. It had been a moment or two before she had realised that Hedda was still talking, her words jolting Teer out of her reverie. ".. think he was really aware of his surroundings though. He's still pretty woozy. Oh hey, there he goes again…"

Startled, she had turned her attention back to John to find those oddly-coloured eyes open again and seemingly gazing right at her. Unable to keep a pleased smile from her face, she had bent closer to speak to him, his name faltering on her lips as she had realised that his eyes did not track her movement at all; though lacking the fever-bright glaze of the previous night, his gaze had still been unfocused, staring unseeingly past her, _through_ her. She had waved a hesitant hand across his face; not a flicker of reaction. John's eyes may have been open but he had not really been awake. Hedda had pressed the cool cloth to his forehead once more and his eyes had drifted closed, his brow wrinkling for a moment in seeming confusion, his lips moving soundlessly, forming indistinct, silent words. As his breathing had deepened once more in sleep, Teer had found herself holding her breath and had exhaled deliberately.

As evening had turned to night and night cycled into morning, John had continued to rouse periodically from his exhausted sleep, never really reaching wakefulness but hovering on the edges of awareness, opening drowsy, unseeing eyes, sometimes responding sluggishly when spoken to. Teer had taken Hedda's place at his bedside, watching over him as he slept, using cloth and cool water to bathe his brow, dabbing carefully at the healing cuts on his forehead; such small wounds had been left to heal on their own, Hedda having expended much of her energy on repairing the serious damage done to John's body. Avrid had returned from meditation in the early evening, bringing Teer a meal of fresh fruit and bread which they had shared companionably, chatting in low voices so as not to unduly disturb their sleeping guest.

Teer had again passed the night on the cot set up in John's room, reluctant to leave him alone, despite his greatly improved condition. She had sat for a long time at his bedside simply watching him sleep, feeling a great sense of wonder and gratitude at the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. Now that the danger was over and his recovery was certain, she felt again the slow build of excitement at what his arrival foretold; the end of their journey, the achievement of their most cherished goal. After so many years of waiting, John had come to them and Ascension was within their grasp.

She had checked his healing wounds one last time before dousing the lamps and curling up on the low cot. Pulling aside the blankets, she had checked carefully for any sign of bruising to his torso and abdomen, any swelling or pressure that might indicate an internal injury. John had not stirred as she had rolled him gently onto his side, his body limp and boneless in the relaxation of deep sleep. She had run a hand lightly across his back, marvelling at the unblemished skin; there was no sign of the terrible wounds he had suffered, no swelling or redness, no reaction to her touch. The bone-deep gashes had healed completely with no evidence that they had ever been there. Teer knew from previous experience of Hedda's healing powers that the process could be physically demanding for both the healer and the patient, the accelerated healing drawing on the body's own energy as well as Hedda's, often leaving the patient exhausted. The severity of the trauma John had suffered had left him weak and vulnerable to begin with, making further demands on his store of energy. It was not at all surprising that he had slept so long and so deeply; more than anything he needed to rest, to allow his body to replenish its energy levels. According to Hedda, he was unlikely to awaken properly for at least another day or so.

But Teer had seen the strength of character in John as he had fought to protect her brother from the Beast, she had felt the power and determination in his muscles as, though weak and wounded, he had struggled in her grasp, pushing his body to the limits of endurance through sheer willpower alone. She had seen that strength in him, had read it in his eyes, even when fever-glazed and drowsy. With a rueful smile, she had suspected that their patient might just surprise them all. Trying to dress him when he was so utterly relaxed, a dead weight in her arms, had turned out to be very much a matter of trial and error but she had been content to do it alone; she had a feeling that John was a very private man and somehow the thought of asking others, even her brother, to come and help her clothe him had made her uncomfortable on his behalf. Better that she do it herself. It had been a simple enough thing to lift his head enough to pull the loose, woven smock over it and to take his arms one at a time and thread them gently into the sleeves. Somewhat harder had been raising his torso from the mattress enough to smooth the tunic down over his shoulders and back. She had resorted to pulling him up into a sitting position, bracing his limp body against her own, letting his head rest on her shoulder as she pulled the soft fabric into place. The smock was long enough to cover his undergarment and some of his legs and, after laying him gently back down on the bed, she had been satisfied that he would feel more comfortable to awaken wearing the soft, clean garment. She had tucked the blankets back around him and, with a smile, brushed an unruly lock of hair from his forehead before turning down the lamps, plunging the room into darkness.

The night had passed much more peacefully this time, John sleeping deeply for much of the night. Teer had risen only once or twice to check on him and had been awoken only once by a noise from the bed. She had found John dreaming, stirring restlessly under the blankets, mumbling some anguished protest, but his skin had been cool to the touch, no sign of fever or illness. So she had sat for a while beside the bed, taking his hand in hers and speaking to him in low, calming tones; talking of nothing, of the harvest, of the smell of the meadow in springtime, of the virtues of meditation and personal reflection, heedless that he could not hear her, until finally he had quieted, his head ceasing to toss on the pillow, the murmured, half-coherent words stilling on his lips. She had continued to hold his hand as his ragged breathing had evened out and the tension had faded from his body.

Dawn had found her dozing on the soft, padded seat beside John's bed, his hand still gripped in hers.

Avrid and Hedda had joined her for breakfast and the three of them had sat together in John's room, sharing their meal of fresh, ripe fruit and talking quietly as they watched over the sleeping stranger who had arrived so suddenly into their lives; who, Teer knew, had come to change their lives forever. The day had dawned cloudless and warm, the sky a clear, endless blue that seemed to go on forever. It was a day for new beginnings, a day for endless possibilities, and the sun was warm on Teer's face as she followed Avrid out into the Cloister, leaving Hedda to watch over John. Their friends and neighbours greeted them warmly and Teer found herself gazing at each and every beloved face, her heart swelling with the sure and certain knowledge that today was the momentous day that would mark the beginning of the end of their long journey.

Her conversation with Avrid was interrupted by Hedda's clear, childishly-high voice calling from within the house, "He's awake again!"

* * *

_Fin... for now. ;)_


End file.
